


Displays of Affection and Their Effect on Attraction

by WhichWolfWins



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Did I say angst?, Experimentation, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Human Experimentation, M/M, Sexual Experimentation, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-08-27
Updated: 2014-05-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 19:49:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 6,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/943962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhichWolfWins/pseuds/WhichWolfWins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has been rather bored for weeks when he gets an idea for an experiment. It's unlike anything he's ever tried before and John agrees to be his test subject, but it soon becomes clear to both men that they both are.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: The Experiment

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was actually inspired by the 30 Day OTP Challenge. I did change a few on the list, so it would fit Sherlock's experiment and not become a crack fic. I myself am not turning this into a 30 day challenge, because I just don't have the time to write a fic a day.
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: Sherlock belongs to Arthur Conan Doyle, Steven Moffat, Mark Gatiss, and the BBC, and anyone else involved in the making and producing of this show. This is in no way mine; these are their toys and I am simply playing with them.
> 
> This is in no way brit-picked or beta'd, so if you see any mistakes, they are my own and I would love for you to inform me of them! :)

John knew something was up the moment Sherlock walked into the sitting room. He’d just finished up with the newspaper and was fitting each page back into it’s proper fold when Sherlock came into the sitting room from his bedroom at a fast clip. Sherlock had a red folder in his hands and John wasn’t sure whether or not the bright colour was reflecting off of Sherlock’s pale skin or if Sherlock was actually blushing. John set down the newspaper on the side table and picked up his tea, raising his eyebrow in question at his flatmate as he did.

“John,” Sherlock breathed, coming to a stop in front of John’s chair as if he’d been searching all over for him and was almost relieved to find him when John had been sitting in the same place pretty much all day. 

“Sherlock,” John nodded in acknowledgment, then went to take a sip of his tea. 

“I wanted to try an experiment,” Sherlock said. 

John paused his hand. He pulled away the cup that had just barely grazed his lips and looked down into the dark brown liquid. _Please god, not again_ , he thought. “Sherlock,” John said, his voice dropping low in warning, the voice he used when he was preparing for a fight. He hadn't gotten so much use out of it since he and Harry were kids. 

Sherlock sighed. “I didn’t tamper with your tea,” he said, a hint of annoyance in his voice. “You made me sign the agreement, remember?” 

John humphed and brought the cup to his lips. He tipped it back and gulped down the remainder of his drink before getting up to bring the mug to the sink. “Is this a warning, then? Is it going to smell?” John paused and looked back at Sherlock. “Will I need to stay at Greg’s again?” 

Sherlock paused, likely trying to remember which one Greg was. “It’s nothing like that,” Sherlock finally said, following him into the kitchen. 

John turned on the faucet to rinse the mug. “Then what is it?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at Sherlock. 

Sherlock’s eyes flitted down to the cover of the folder in his hands. “If I told you, it may ruin the whole experiment,” Sherlock said. “The reason I am telling you is because you told me that I had to ask you permission before I did any sort of experiments on you.” 

John frowned. “Could it harm me?” 

“No,” Sherlock answered quickly. John eyed him suspiciously, but Sherlock looked like he was being honest. “Last time you said ‘no’ I nearly lost an eyebrow, Sherlock.” 

“I promise you will not be harmed,” Sherlock reiterated. 

“Will I be uncomfortable?” 

“Yes,” Sherlock answered, just as quickly. 

John’s frown deepened. He thought for a moment, trying to think of what to ask to make it more clear to him that this was something he was willing to agree to. What he settled on was: “Very uncomfortable?” 

Sherlock hesitated a moment before answering. “If you want me to stop, I will stop.” 

The way those words sounded coming out of Sherlock’s mouth sent a curl of warmth through John’s body and he stared down at his motionless hands, trying to clear his head. He cleared his throat instead. “How long will it take?” he croaked. 

“It’s indeterminate,” Sherlock said. 

John sighed heavily. The truth was that he wouldn’t even slightly be considering this if Sherlock hadn’t been driving him up the wall for the past month. They had been without a case that truly captured Sherlock’s interest in far too long and Sherlock had been almost unbearable. At least until a few days ago, when Sherlock suddenly became quiet during dinner. He’d stopped trying to convince John to allow him to dissect the arm in the fridge when John had reached over and speared a piece of orange chicken out of the carton Sherlock held in his hands. Sherlock had gone completely silent, his eyes intent on the stolen chicken as John steered it into his mouth. After that, Sherlock had gotten on his computer and was still staring at the screen when John went to sleep that night. 

Today was the first day since that Sherlock hadn’t gone near his computer. Instead, Sherlock had been in his bedroom and not come out until now. Whatever this experiment of his was, it had kept him mostly quiet for the past three days, and if by agreeing John could keep Sherlock from catching the kitchen on fire again, then he would. For his sanity and no other reason, he told himself. Sherlock’s almost shy expression had nothing to do with it. 

John ran his tongue along his bottom lip and set down the mug on the drying rack. He turned around and leaned against the counter. “Under one condition,” he said, looking Sherlock in the eye. “No one else knows about it.” 

“Mycroft will know,” Sherlock remarked. 

John huffed. “No one else, Sherlock.” 

“Of course,” Sherlock said, nodding curtly. “So you agree?” 

“Yes. Fine. You can do your experiment.” 

Sherlock got a really pleased expression on his face and left the room in a hurry. “Excellent!” he cried in victory as he went.


	2. Experiment One: Hold Hands

It’s a few days later that Lestrade calls with a new case: a woman has been murdered. She was found by her husband, hit over the head by a blunt instrument. The crime scene is only 5 blocks away, so John and Sherlock set off on foot. John suspects it will only take Sherlock moments to solve the case, but Sherlock hasn’t left the house in weeks, so he decides it’s for the best they at least get a little fresh air and exercise. Sherlock goes, surprisingly, without a fight.

John’s been looking for signs of Sherlock’s mysterious experiment everywhere, but he hasn’t seen a thing, except that bloody red folder he’s spotted almost every day for the past week. It’s taken all his strength not to sneak a peek under the cover, or even at the cover. He knows one glance at the label neatly written on the front will tell John all he needs to know about it. 

They’ve been walking mostly in silence, side by side because the streets are mostly empty and the weather’s starting to get cold again. It’s as they’re crossing the street to the next sidewalk when John gets his first glimpse of the experiment, though he doesn’t realize it at the time. As John steps up onto the next pavement, he has to swerve closer to Sherlock to avoid a passing woman and Sherlock’s fingers tangle with his. 

John steps quickly away when he can, pulling his hand back with an apology. He glances over at Sherlock, ready to share a laugh, only to see the other man purse his lips and look away. Sherlock tucks his hands into his great coat pockets and that is the end of that. 

Except, as John walks beside Sherlock, he goes over the occurrence in his head again and he doesn’t remember Sherlock standing so close. And hadn’t Sherlock’s hands been tucked into his pockets for the whole of the walk? John glances over at Sherlock again and his friend stares blankly ahead. John looks away and worries the inside of his lip. Had Sherlock really been trying to hold his hand? 

The flashing lights and police tape at the crime scene come into view soon after and the event slips from John’s mind like a balloon from a child’s fingers. 

It takes Sherlock a matter of minutes before he deduces from the wrinkles on the husband’s navy trousers and his white button-down that it was his mistress that had killed his wife. With a glance at a slight smear of lipstick, red that didn’t match the wife’s pink, on the man’s sleeve cuff, Sherlock determines that the man had helped her. 

They take a cab to Scotland Yard to fill out some paperwork, then another to get home. It's on the ride back, as John peers out the window at the passing streetlights, blurs of cars, and people, that he feels fingers curl around his hand. He stills and looks down at his thigh where his hand rests and finds familiar violinist fingers holding onto his much smaller hands. He looks up at Sherlock and is met by eyes that are currently light gray. They dance over John’s face, as if searching for something. Calculating. 

John looks back at their hands and slips his out from underneath Sherlock’s. He tucks them into his jacket pockets, then turns to look out the window. His heart is racing a mile a minute as he tries to focus his sight on the passing scenery outside, but the reflection of Sherlock still looking at him seems to fill up all his vision. John closes his eyes and rests his head against the glass and tries not to think of how soft Sherlock’s hands are. It isn’t until later that he realizes that Sherlock hadn’t been wearing gloves and he tries to convince himself that Sherlock was just trying to warm those long fingers of his. Even later still, upon catching a glimpse of that blood red folder of Sherlock's, John realizes his stupidity at hoping it was something other than an experiment.


	3. Experiment Two: Cuddle

Sherlock shouted for John to hurry- the bad guy was getting away, the game was afoot. John couldn’t find his coat. It wasn’t on the hook where he always left it and it wasn’t draped over the back of his chair, where he sometimes tossed it when his body was still thrumming with adrenaline. 

The only other place he thought he might’ve put it was in his room. He glanced toward the stairs, contemplating the ascent to get his coat for a fraction of a second before he sighed and hurried out the door after Sherlock.  


When John got outside, the street was nearly empty and there was no Sherlock in sight. He groaned and reached into his pocket to dig out his phone when he saw a familiar figure disappearing around the corner to his right. John turned and took off after him.

By the time John finally caught up with Sherlock, his calves were burning and his skin was blazing warm from running. He couldn’t feel the cold at all. 

“I’d thought I’d lost you,” Sherlock said when John started running alongside him. 

John huffed a laugh. “Never.” 

Sherlock turned to him and grinned. It was so bright it took John by surprise and he stumbled a few steps. 

“All right?” Sherlock asked, looking concerned. 

“Yeah,” John answered quickly. “It’s just been awhile since I’ve had to run like that.” 

Sherlock darted around a corner and John blazed right past it. By the time he skidded to a halt and turned down it, Sherlock had disappeared again. 

John slowed, glancing around the alley. A dark doorway caught his eye and he took a few exploratory steps toward it. A hand reached out and snatched him into the dark. John was immediately surrounded by heat. 

“Shh,” Sherlock whispered in his ear, his breath warm in the crisp autumn air. His body curved around John’s back and John blushed upon realizing he fit neatly underneath Sherlock’s chin. Like puzzle pieces, they locked together perfectly. 

“What’s going on?” John whispered. He wanted to peer around the edge of the deep doorway, but that was a rookie mistake that might put them both in danger. 

“Mr. Caruthers will be coming this way in a minute. When I say go, I want you to charge him.” 

John chuckled, then he began to shiver, both from the nearness of Sherlock and all his warmth and the cold. There was a shuffle of fabric, then Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, enveloping him into his coat. 

John froze up as Sherlock held him close. Sherlock was so warm and John wanted nothing more than to press himself back against him to soak up his heat, but he knew what that would look like to onlookers: like they were cuddling up somewhere, getting each off in an alley or something. Sherlock’s coat would be perfect for it. 

Heat spread downward and John closed his eyes, willing himself not to react to the thought. That would never happen. He wasn’t gay and Sherlock wasn’t… Well, he didn’t know what Sherlock was. Definitely not interested in him. If Sherlock were to be interested in anyone, it would be a sexy, beautiful, intelligent woman, like Irene Adler, or someone who could keep him thoroughly transfixed, like Moriarty. Not someone who wore too many jumpers, woke from nightmares of war, and could barely keep up with him; not someone like John. 

“John?” Sherlock murmured, his warm breath gusting against John’s ear. John couldn't stop the shiver that wracked his body. 

“Hmm?” he answered, sounding too much like someone caught dipping their hand in the cookie jar. 

“Three…” 

John snapped to attention immediately. 

“Two…” 

He got into position. 

“One!” 

Sherlock released him and John ran at full speed. He tackled a serial killer to the ground and they skidded a few feet across the pavement until they lost momentum. Sherlock laughed giddily, towering above them with a grin on his face. “That was spectacular, John!" 

John wrestled their killer’s wrists behind his back and looked up at Sherlock with the man's thick wrists clasped in his hands. His friend was grinning with a brightness in his eyes that looked a lot like pride and John couldn't help but grin back at him.


	4. Experiment Three: Watch a Movie Together

John held onto the bucket of popcorn with one hand and clutched a handful of said buttery popcorn in the other. Every so often he would crunch on a piece or two, but never too many at once, because when the time came for him to run, he didn’t want to die by inhaling a piece and choking to death. He could just imagine Sherlock’s disappointment if he went out that way.

Sherlock, on the other hand, sat with his elbows resting on both armrests and his hands folded over his flat belly. He was watching the big screen in front of them, because, as he said, they couldn’t both watch the door. 

John wasn’t entirely sure how Sherlock had deduced that the murderer was going to watch this movie. Did murderers even watch romances? At the moment, there was a man trying to keep his girlfriend from leaving him after she’d caught him cheating on her. John rolled his eyes at the predictability of it all, but Sherlock seemed intrigued when the man surged forward and began to kiss her. As John predicted, the woman jerked away and took her bags with her on the way out the door; the only good part of the movie so far. 

There was something very disconcerting about the way Sherlock watched the movie so attentively. John had to keep forcing his gaze from his flatmate’s face, illuminated by the fluorescent blue of the screen. He hadn’t realized he’d begun to absently lick the butter off his fingers until he glanced over at Sherlock and found him watching him like he had been the movie. 

John stopped licking immediately. “I’m not seeing our guy anywhere,” he said, tucking his deliciously salty hand under his thigh. “Maybe he read the reviews.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Maybe you missed him while you were performing fellatio on your fingers,” Sherlock murmured back. 

The words startled a laugh out of John and he glanced awkwardly around the luminescent cinema. It wasn't exactly rare for Sherlock to make sex jokes, but it always took John by surprise. He knew it was stupid to think that Sherlock didn't know anything about sex, but the jokes always made John think of Sherlock in those situations and he really shouldn't do that in public, especially with said friend's eyes on him. 

“My eyes work perfectly fine during fellatio, thanks," John retaliated. 

As soon as the words were out there in the air, though, John wanted to snatch them back and shove them into his mouth like a handful of popcorn. Unfortunately unable to do so, he turned his face away from Sherlock and cursed himself. 

The silence from his flatmate was telling. He knew Sherlock’s eyes were on him, so he avoided looking back. Thankfully, a hint of green among the audience caught John’s attention at the corner of his eye and he turned slowly to look at the crowd behind him. 

There, sitting three rows back and to his left, was their suspect, making out with the dead girl’s mother. John stared openly in disbelief. He turned quickly back to Sherlock, but he was already gone. 

The fire alarm sounded and John burst into action as the crowd began to make for the door. He didn’t take his eyes off the suspect as he shouldered his way through the swarm. 

With the help of the fire alarm and a bucketful of buttery popcorn dumped over the man’s head, they got their murderer. Sherlock and John leaned against the wall outside the theater as the police apprehended the criminal. 

Sherlock looked over at him and chuckled. He reached toward John and John’s breath caught in his throat when he saw the gentle look in his friend’s grey eyes. He swallowed, realizing just how close Sherlock was. He began to panic as Sherlock’s hand neared. _He’s going to kiss you_ , John’s racing thoughts warned. Instinctively, John flinched his face away from Sherlock’s hand before Sherlock could cup his cheek. 

Sherlock’s brow furrowed, but it went unseen as John stared at Sherlock’s hand. It barely grazed John’s coat before it retreated. Sherlock was holding a piece of popcorn between his long, elegant fingers when he pulled his hand back. John’s eyes widened when he realized his mistake and his ears burned. Sherlock flicked the piece of popcorn onto the floor, but he was wearing a small, amused smile by the time John looked up at him; a carefully chosen mask. 

“I was going to eat that,” John grunted, looking at the popcorn on the floor. 

Sherlock’s smile stretched into something less shuttered. “The movie’s not over; we can get you another,” he suggested. 

Despite his conflicting thoughts, a smile spread across John's lips and he giggled. “Who would have thought you liked romance movies.” 

Sherlock glanced away from John and began toward the refreshments counter. “Love is a very important part of my work,” he explained. 

Moving quickly, John set off after him. He studied the side of his friend’s profile and his smile fell away. He felt both extremely relieved and oddly dejected after the kiss that never was and the reminder that love didn’t matter to Sherlock except when it helped with solving a case was a much needed one. He needed to remember that whatever it was he was feeling toward his flatmate, it wouldn’t amount to anything, so he should just put a stop to them before they got any stronger.


	5. Experiment Four: Go On a Date

“John,” Sherlock said, after long minutes of silence. They hadn’t spoken a word since John had asked Sherlock if he was going to eat and Sherlock had told him ‘no’. John was used to it by now, eating while having Sherlock sit there with him, an empty space where a plate of food should be in front of him. He made plans to got out to pick up something to eat, since there was nothing edible in the fridge.

“Hmm?” John typed a few words for his blog. 

“I was planning to go to the symphony and was wondering if you would like to attend with me.” 

“Don’t we have to dress fancy?” John asked distractedly, trying to finish up his newest entry about the mystery of the missing necklace and the dog who’d eaten it that had amused him and Sherlock both. He glanced up at Sherlock and saw his friend smoothing an ink black suit jacket over a silky red shirt and his fingers stuttered over the keys. 

“Yes,” Sherlock replied, catching his eye in the mirror. 

John swallowed and forced his gaze away. He deleted the jumbled letters and stared at the entry for a moment, his mind gone blank, before he sighed and saved it as a draft. He closed his laptop and stood to head upstairs to change, casting a glance at Sherlock’s velvety suit as he walked past him. Christ, did he look good. 

He took the stairs two at a time to his room and went to his wardrobe to frown at the confines. His eyes settled on the suit a girlfriend had bought him before he’d gone to Afghanistan and he hesitated a moment before taking it out. He held it up in front of himself as he looked in the mirror. He’d never worn the suit before, never really had the opportunity, but now seemed as good a time as any. It wasn’t really something he would normally wear, but if he was going to stand beside Sherlock looking like that, then he would damn well look good, too. 

John stripped off his clothes and stepped into the trousers. He was pleased to find that they fit, and they fit well. They hugged his arse and somehow managed to make his legs look longer than they actually were. He pulled on a black shirt and buttoned it up to the neck, then he opened the drawer Sherlock had arranged his ties in and grabbed out a simple black one to go with it. By the time he got downstairs, Sherlock was standing by the door typing away at his phone. He looked up when a stair creaked beneath John’s foot and his eyes scanned down his body, then back up to meet his eyes. “It’s about time. The concert starts at 8 o’clock, John. Come along!” 

John did his best to hide his disappointment. 

* * *

A candle never failed to be put down on top of their table whenever they went to Angelo’s. At first, it had annoyed him, because no one had listened when he'd said he wasn't Sherlock's date, but now he found that it annoyed him for a whole different reason: it annoyed him because he wasn't Sherlock's date. John stared at the dancing flame as he spun noodles around and around his fork and shoved them into his mouth. 

Sherlock was sitting in his usual seat to John’s left, his fingers tapping on the table cloth. He was looking out the window with his lips rested on his knuckles and a far away look in his eyes. Outside, the sky was dark blue and the city lights hid the stars from them. They hadn’t spoken a word since they’d sat down and John had ordered his meal, but he was used to Sherlock's silences. 

“That suit,” Sherlock said after a long stretch of quiet, still facing out the window. “It looks nice on you.” 

John nearly choked on the food he was swallowing. He forced it down and took a sip of wine to regain his composure. “If people are going to continue to think we’re a couple, I’m gonna make damn sure we at least look good together,” he replied, flashing Sherlock a grin, trying to conceal just how pleased the compliment had made him. “If you can’t beat them, as the saying goes.” 

A small smile came onto Sherlock’s face as he looked at John and it went unnoticed as John looked away to finish off his last bite of food. He swiped his mouth with a cloth napkin then turned to Sherlock. “Ready?” 

“I’ve been waiting for you,” Sherlock said. 

The compliment had put John in a good mood and he chuckled to himself as he stood. They buttoned up their suit jackets and, with a wave from John to the staff, they headed for the door. 

* * *

They sat in an upper balcony looking down at the stage. It was just the two of them, despite there being two other seats on the balcony, and they sat side by side. Never before had they done something like this. He’d thought Sherlock would be the kind of person to avoid concerts, because it meant there was plenty of opportunity for mistake, but he looked almost serene looking down at the performers. 

When the music picked up, John leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes, letting the beautiful sounds wash over him. His hand was on the same armrest as Sherlock’s elbow and he found himself just itching to reach out and slide his hand down it to take Sherlock’s hand in his. He swallowed and slid his arms off to rest his sweating palms on his thighs instead. His heart was racing along with the music and he peeked over at Sherlock, expecting to see Sherlock watching him with knowing eyes. Instead, Sherlock was sitting back with his eyes closed, his lips parted as if he’d forgotten himself in the music. His eyelashes were like brush strokes across his cheekbones. 

In the hidden darkness of the theater, John was the one watching for once, and what he saw was beautiful. Eventually, he closed his eyes again with a smile on his lips and got lost right along with him. His heart didn’t stop thrumming to the music for the rest of the night.


	6. Experiment Five: Wear Each Other's Clothing

"John," Sherlock said, just as John reached the top step outside the open door to their flat.

"Hmm?" John replied as he paused inside to pull off his coat. The chill of the cold outside lingered in its fabric and made him shiver. 

"I'm going to need to wear one of your jumpers." 

John's eyebrows furrowed and he slowly hanged his coat. "Um... why?" he asked, bracing his hands on the wall to toe off his shoes. 

"Experiment." 

John rolled his eyes, knowing that if he asked if it was that experiment, the one that had occupied way too much of John’s time, Sherlock wouldn't answer. "Everything's an experiment with you," John said, turning to walk toward the kitchen. He pulled open the sliding doors, too hungry to be kept from the fridge, and his steps faltered as he finally saw Sherlock. "And you're already wearing one of my jumpers," John murmured in annoyance as he continued passed him on his way to the fridge. 

"Yes, well, you were taking too long to get home," Sherlock said, not even bothering to look away from whatever had caught his interest through the microscope lenses. 

"I was at work," John said. "You could have texted!" 

"My phone is in my room," Sherlock explained, as if that was an acceptable reason for not asking to go rifling through his things. 

John opened the fridge door and sighed heavily into it. "So, what's this one for then? Fashion sense and its connection to intelligence?" 

Sherlock frowned and finally leaned away from the microscope. "No," he said, sounding displeased as he looked over at John. "I was bored." 

"What is it, then?" John asked, looking back in the fridge and contemplating the box of bourbon chicken. He couldn't remember if it was from yesterday or a week ago. He decided he better not risk it and tossed the carton into the trash. He grabbed out the case of eggs and mayonnaise, deciding to make a fried egg sandwich instead. 

"I wanted to see if they were as comfortable as they looked," Sherlock admitted. 

John looked at his friend with an amused smile and found him focusing once again on the slide in his microscope. "And?" 

"It's inconclusive," Sherlock said with a noncommittal shrug. 

"Incon-... Sherlock, it's either comfortable or it's not," John told him. 

"Well, for one thing it's too small," Sherlock said, tugging on a sleeve of the oatmeal jumper with a frown. The short sleeves stopped about an inch above Sherlock's wrists. "And it smells like you." 

John turned to look at his flatmate. "What, is that a bad thing?" he asked, sounding slightly offended. 

"Well... not exactly, but it is a distraction," Sherlock admitted. 

From in Sherlock’s bedroom, John could hear Sherlock's phone chime, but he was busy staring at the side of his friend's face to really comprehend it. 

"John?" Sherlock said, peering up at him. "Phone?" 

John's body jolted as he processed what was going on around him and nodded. "Yeah," he murmured distractedly as he turned off the burner, then walked down the short hall to Sherlock's room. He didn't see the phone right away, but another text alert drew his attention to Sherlock's bedside drawer. John pulled it open without a thought and froze at what he found. 

There were bottles of lube filled with liquids every flavour and colour of the rainbow. John stared in disbelief at the sheer amount of them before his curiosity got the best of him. He glanced toward the door to make sure Sherlock hadn't gotten impatient and come in search of his phone before he reached out and picked one of the bottles up. A green apple-flavoured one, as the bright green colour suggested. 

He knew it was none of his business, but this was possibly the only answer he'd ever get to one of the questions that had plagued him for years and he was going to take it if he could. He tilted up a few of the other bottles and noticed that each of them had been used at least once. An image of Sherlock spreading the liquid on his cock filled John's head and his neck flushed. 

The phone vibrated again and John startled and dropped the cherry flavoured lube he was inspecting back into the drawer. He snatched the phone out and slammed the drawer closed before he made his way down the hall. With any of his other mates, John would make some sort of joke about the contents of Sherlock's bedside drawer, but this was Sherlock he was talking about. He didn't know why exactly, but they didn't exactly have that kind of friendship. Instead, he opened the texts to distract himself from the image imprinted in his memory and read them out loud. 

"You were right. The body was found in Regents Park. Will you come?" said the first text. "His hair has recently been dyed blue and he has new piercings on his face and ears. Wife not aware. Weird. Are you coming Sherlock?" read the second. "Please message if not coming," said the last one. John glanced up at Sherlock and saw a big smile on his friend's face. "Interested, then?" 

"Very," Sherlock grinned. "Coming?" 

John glanced toward the eggs in the pan and his stomach begged for him to eat them. "Yep," John nodded. 

Sherlock smiled warmly at him and John held out the phone. Sherlock glanced down at it and there was a barely imperceptible moment of hesitance before his long fingers curled around it. His eyes flitted up to meet John's for a fleeting moment, then Sherlock was turning his back on John and heading for his coat. John could swear that was a blush he saw colouring Sherlock's cheeks. 

"Have you seen my scarf?" John asked as he got ready to face the freezing cold. "I couldn't find it this morning." 

"No..." Sherlock said. He held out his blue scarf. "Here, wear mine," he said, holding John’s gaze. 

John eyed the scarf as he zipped up his coat. "I'm alright,” he said with a shake of his head. “You'll complain about your ears being cold all night." 

Sherlock chuckled. "The only thing worse than me complaining about being cold is you complaining about it," he said. He pressed the scarf into John's chest and John dutifully accepted it. He wrapped it around his neck and quickly followed Sherlock down the stairs and outside. The cold weather chilled John's face the moment he stepped out the door. 

As they walked, his flatmate filled him in on the case. He did his best to pay attention, but John quickly came to understand what Sherlock had meant earlier about distractions. The warm, slightly spicy scent of Sherlock's cologne filled John's nose each time he inhaled and he soon found himself breathing faster just to take in more of it. He’d smelled the cologne, but never up close like this so he could smell every little nuance. 

There was something very intriguing about it and John was surprised he’d never noticed just how nice the smell was before. He had to be up close and personal with it to enjoy what the soft cologne had to offer. As the night wore on, John decided he smelled vanilla in it, and maybe even honey. Whatever it was, the cologne made John's chest buzz like a bee as he hummed at the pleasing scent. It made his mouth water.


	7. Experiment Six: Cook or Bake Together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, a chapter! Sorry for the wait!

“Still up for spaghetti for dinner?” John asked, passing Sherlock at the kitchen table on his way to the fridge.

“Mm,” Sherlock hummed, keeping his eyes fixed on a test tube as he eased a blue blob inside to join a green one already resting at the bottom. 

John frowned questioningly over Sherlock’s shoulder at it and his eyes landed on the blue raspberry and green apple-flavoured tubes of lube he’d seen in Sherlock’s bedside drawer. This only made him frown more. 

“So,” John started, turning to the fridge and pulling it open to reach for the Prego. “Have you got a case on?” he asked, then he stared into the fridge as he waited for Sherlock to answer until he realized he wasn’t seeing the jar of spaghetti sauce anywhere, which only brought the frown back to his face. 

“Noope,” Sherlock answered slowly. John glanced over his shoulder to watch as Sherlock mixed the tube lubricants together and happened to notice the jar of Prego resting on the table near Sherlock’s elbow. He quickly stood up. 

“Sherlock,” he growled, peering closer at it, but it only took him a moment to realize that whatever was inside was darker than what had originally been in there. “That was for dinner tonight. I told you ahead of time specifically so you wouldn’t do anything to it.” 

“Mrs. Hudson took them. Apparently they’re making candles at her crafts club and it was her job to pick up the supplies this time and you said she could use them,” Sherlock grumbled in frustration. 

John sighed. So that’s what Mrs. Hudson had been trying to ask him this morning. He’d been in a hurry on his way out the door because Sherlock had had a mishap with the toaster, so John had called out, “yes, yes, Mrs. Hudson, whatever you need,” as he quickly raced out the door. 

“Then I’m gonna have to go to the shop, because we’ve got nothing else in,” John said, eyeing the bag of ham in the fridge and wondering just when he’d picked that up. The state of the cheese suggested too long ago, so he pulled them both out of the fridge and dumped them in the bin. 

“Actually,” Sherlock said, leaning away from his colourful project and turning John’s way. “I was hoping to make dinner for you tonight.” 

“Well good luck with that,” John said. “There’s almost nothing in there.” 

“Hoo-hoo,” Mrs. Hudson called, knocking her knuckles on the door. 

“You can come in,” John told her, looking suspiciously at Sherlock as his flatmate smiled proudly. 

“Excellent timing, Mrs. Hudson,” Sherlock said as he walked passed John to receive the bags from their landlady. 

“I told you that you didn’t have to pick up the shopping anymore, Mrs. Hudson. If Sherlock needs something, he can go get it himself.” 

Mrs. Hudson waved her hand in the air with a smile on her way out the door. “I’m just returning the favor,” she said. “You boys have fun tonight. I’ll be staying at Mrs. Turner’s,” she informed them with a wink before closing the door between her and a gaping John. 

"You bribed her with the jars, didn't you?" 

Sherlock shrugged. "She was headed that way already." 

“And what did you tell her?” John asked, his heart doing something slightly concerning in his chest at the comment. 

“Just that I was going to make dinner,” Sherlock said, looking at him with the look he often gave John when he suspected he was missing something. “What?” 

“It’s just… I think Mrs. Hudson has it in her head that it’s date night,” John told him with a laugh. 

Sherlock shifted and John caught what looked like a pout on Sherlock’s lips as he turned to the table to set the bags down. 

John licked his lips as he convinced himself that Mrs. Hudson was wrong. This wasn’t a date. This probably had something to do with the bloody experiment. “So, what’s for dinner?” John asked with a hint of disappointment, but he was also a bit pleased, because any experiment that had Sherlock cooking dinner was a good experiment. Actually, that wasn’t quite true, but if Mrs. Hudson thought the ingredients were acceptable enough to pick up, John would at least give the meal a taste. 

“Chicken enchiladas,” Sherlock said, pulling the chicken out of the bag. 

John laughed. “Oh, thank god.” 

A smile flashed across Sherlock’s face, crinkling his eyes up at the corners. John couldn’t help but smile back. “Would you like to help cut the toppings?” 

Never had John expected to hear those words come out of his flatmate’s mouth, so if he answered a little quickly and perhaps sounded a bit too excited, he had good reason. 

“Yeah, alright,” he said, before promptly walked over to the counter to clear it off, spray it down, then wash his hands after wiping it up. Then, he took out both cutting boards, the wooden and the plastic, and kept the wooden for himself. 

Sherlock did the same process on the table, seemingly forgetting completely about his unexplained experiment with the lubricant, then he got to slicing up the chicken in neat strips while John first chopped the green onion, then diced the tomato. 

It was nice, preparing dinner with Sherlock. Though they’d never cooked together like this, they had a good understanding of how the other worked, so when one went one way, the other went the opposite way. Not a single elbow was jostled until they were standing side-by-side watching the minutes tick down to meal time. 

“We work well together,” Sherlock said, dragging John’s attention away from the green numbers. He was watching John with a curious look that John really couldn’t put his finger on. He would say it was like Sherlock was trying to assure him, but John didn’t know why he would feel the sudden need to. 

“Always have,” John told him, offering Sherlock a reassuring smile for safe measure. _Always will_ , John thought. “Alright?” 

Sherlock pressed his parted lips together and nodded. “Alright,” he said, with a slight tremor in his voice that John missed as the timer went off.

**Author's Note:**

> If you would like to follow me on Tumblr, you can find me [ here! ](http://whichwolfwins.tumblr.com/)


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